I Can't Be Cool
by Alithea
Summary: Crossover gangster AU. Nichol takes on a job to pick up a courier working for Hotel Moscow. A slight sequel to Ruska.


**Title: I Can't Be Cool**  
**Rating: R**  
**AU Crossover Gundam Wing and Black Lagoon**  
**Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.**  
**A/N: Set in the gangster AU-verse of The Numbers, this is a Numbers Alternates story.**

Normally, Nichol didn't take on assignments that were reserved for newbies and people marked as only being capable of driving, but this wasn't exactly a standard pickup or drop off. It wasn't even a typical case of being a driver and bodyguard. It was merely a sense of obligation that made him offhandedly volunteer for the task. Hotel Moscow was sending in a courier, and someone from the Numbers had to pick the woman up. He went alone too, leaving Barton behind though he wondered if one of the cars he had caught tailing him was Barton, but given the man's skill it was highly doubtful.

The woman he had picked up didn't seem like the usual couriers. In fact, she was definitely more the hired gun type. It could have been that she worked for couriers, but it was interesting that she should be alone on this delivery. She didn't seem to be carrying much baggage either. There was just the ratty looking backpack that probably had some clothes in it, and the bulge of her guns under her jacket.

She didn't talk much, except to complain about the lack of decent reception and awful radio stations. Tired of the griping he told her she could put in a CD or something, which was why he was now enduring a one hundred and twenty minute mix tape of what sounded to him like industrial techno mixed with heavy metal. It made her quiet though, and that was really all he cared about.

He had to pick her up near the border of Canada and New York. Apparently, the cargo she carried couldn't risk a trip through customs, and as he watched the young Chinese American woman from the corner or his eye it was very likely that she couldn't risk the trip either. Eleven had mentioned that his passenger had quite the temper, but Balalaika seemed to trust her, so she must have been capable of moderate tact at the very least.

It was another two hours to the city and he was getting restless behind the wheel. He rolled his shoulders and then looked over at the young woman and cleared his throat.

"So, Revy," he began and wondered about the way she narrowed her eyes. She didn't seem like small talk, but he needed to do something besides drive. "Do you mind if we stop off for a coffee?"

"Whatever floats your boat, Prince Mishkin," she muttered and leaned into the window.

Nichol narrowed his eyes then and gripped the steering wheel tightly. She knew about him. She knew he was Balalaika's brother.

"That's a little uncalled for, don't you think," he stated firmly. "I don't know what you've heard-"

"Look, Buck-o… I know the story. You aren't just some mafia brat prince. Sis, laid it out for me when I took the gig. I'm not here to be chummy. I'm here to deliver, and then I'm going back to my city where it isn't so goddamned cold all the time," Revy replied quickly.

Nichol huffed and pulled off the road when he spotted an all night diner. He got himself a coffee to go. His _cheerful_ companion ordered a slice of pizza and a very large soda. Back on the road something she had said filtered fully into his head.

"Why do you call her 'Sis'?" He asked and took a sip from his coffee.

"Don't you call any of the guys you work with 'bro', or something," she asked with a mouth full of pizza. Then she chugged down some cola and let out an odd sounding sigh. "There's not much in the way of family where I'm from. Women in my line of work gotta stick together, you know? Sisters… and...well…," she trailed off and then chuckled. "Your sister, man, she's a piece of work."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. She's war obsessed. She only cares about one thing…power. Now people like her you meet them all the time. They're hard. They're bad. And they don't give a damn, except that she does. In her own frightening way, she does." She huffed and then said, "Look… Nichol, right?"

He nodded.

"I'm just a delivery girl. I'm expendable and not part of Hotel Moscow, but ol' Fry Face- Sorry, Balalaika… She had a feeling you'd be picking me up, and I'm terrible at reading that woman, but she seemed genuinely pleased about it."

Nichol grinned. "Maybe…maybe in some weird way she considers you family."

"Right. Don't get all sentimental on my ass." Revy looked up then into the rearview mirror. "That car there's been following us a while."

"I know. Hold on to something."

* * *

"These guys just don't give up," Nichol exclaimed as he pressed his foot on the gas and swerved onto a country road.

"No sirens, so I'm guessing these are friends of the Numbers." A feral grin slipped across her lips, and she rolled down the passenger side window.

"What are you doing?"

"My job," Revy said as she unbuckled her seatbelt and stuck her body half out of the window. "Turn up the volume, would ya?"

Somewhere between trying to increase his speed and out maneuver the other car Nichol managed to crank up the volume of the stereo. The music blasted in, and then there were the gun shots. Revy shouted a sea of obscenities as she hung half out of the car and fired back at the car following them. Her balance and control were unbelievable, like something out of an action movie. A bullet whizzed past his ear and cracked the windshield of the car.

"Jesus!" He tried to gain more speed, but the other car was gaining faster than he anticipated.

Revy slid back into the passenger seat and reloaded her guns. "You ever joust?"

"What?"

"Joust!" She was ready to go back out and she said, "Come on, Mishkin, it's just about our only option before this road is filled with cops! Be a knight for once!"

He chuckled darkly and whipped the car around. It skidded and then he slammed on the gas, charging the other car.

"Hell yes! Eat it you fuckers!" Revy shouted as she fired and hit the wheels of the other car. It spun out of control and hit a tree before it burst into flames. She slid back into the passenger side of the car still grinning madly.

"We need to ditch this car." Nichol stated.

"No shit. This is why I hate playing in the States."

* * *

Nichol looked through the blinds of the motel and then shut them. Technically the motel was run by one of the Numbers, but it was hard to tell where loyalty lie sometimes. He coughed a bit as Revy lit up her third cigarette and shook his head.

"Those things are terrible for you," he said. "How do you stay in shape with that kind of habit?"

"It's not like I'm planning to live long," Revy stated. "I carry these guns and work as a courier, dangerous work leads to vices. I smoke and I drink too much rum. That's my vice, and those are smarter vices to have than drugs or women."

He arched an eyebrow. That seemed oddly pointed. "Women aren't my thing."

Revy laughed. "Probably for the best. I wasn't talking about you."

"My boss maybe?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I hear Eleven has some major special needs."

He shook his head and laid out on one of the beds. "We should be all clear by morning."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Is the package safe?"

Revy snorted. "Yeah."

He was about to shut his eyes and go to sleep when he asked, "I know you weren't talking about my sister."

"No," she said darkly. "I wouldn't dare, even if… That woman's vices. It's hard to say if they're even vices. Expensive cigars, and nice suits?"

"They can be seen that way. No…uh…" He cleared his throat and wondered if he even wanted to broach the subject, but found himself asking, "No lovers."

"I'm not a member of Hotel Moscow," Revy replied. "If there were then she's exceptionally discrete. I don't think there are or ever were. Why do you even care?"

"She seems to care about my love life. Call it brotherly curiosity."

"Well, free advice, brother… Don't pry."

Nichol nodded and shut his eyes. "Right."

* * *

Nichol pulled in front of Eleven's office building and parked the third stolen car he and Revy had acquired. She was much more capable than a hired gun or a courier. When he was having trouble with the last car she stepped in and got that engine revving without any trouble.

"This is your stop," he said. "I need to go ditch this car."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that." She got out of the car with her backpack. "Are you gonna drive me to my drop off?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Just curious." She patted the hood of the car. "Don't be late. I don't want to stay longer than I have to."

He smiled, nodded, and drove off.

* * *

He had been sitting in the car for over an hour in the underground parking lot. He almost didn't think Revy was going to show up. She'd said it herself, the short life of a gunwoman and courier. It didn't sit right with him though. It felt like maybe there was something else involved. Whatever the hold up was he was only going to stick around for another fifteen minutes before leaving. Being a professional she'd know the score, late pickup and delivery was frowned upon.

He sniffed and slid the mix tape she had left behind in the first car into the tape player. He kept the volume low and drummed his fingers along the steering wheel. After a moment or two he saw her approach the car. She opened the door quickly and slid in. She looked like hell, and kept her arms crossed over her chest.

"You…You doing alright there, kid," he asked without even thinking.

"Drive." She shut her eyes and then smiled, reaching over to turn up the volume on the stereo. "You found it, huh?"

"Yup." He clenched his jaw slightly and then asked, "We have time for a slice before you go?"

"Nope." She balled her hands into fists and then said, "I do have time for a drink though. I…" She huffed making a sound that was nearly a laugh. "Do you really want to know why I call Balalaika, 'Sis'?"

Nichol took a deep breath as he pulled out of the parking garage and then turned down towards the dock and a tiny little Number run bar that wouldn't be out of the way of Revy's drop off point. His eye twitched slightly as he gripped the wheel and then he shook his head.

"You learn quick," Revy replied. "It's probably for the best. Look Nichol-"

"Danya," he said softly. "Danya's my real name."

"I know, but in this world you call people by the name they've chosen if you're wise."

He looked over at her and nodded, "I guess you're right…Rebecca." He watched the way she cringed at the sound and said, "Revy suits you better, but I wish I had known before who you really were. The infamous Two Hand. You were the package."

Revy grinned wickedly. "Smart boy. No wonder she worries about you. No more business talk tonight, Mishkin. I need a stiff drink and then I need to get the hell out of this city. I don't belong here."

End.


End file.
